A World of Secrets (The Firewall Trilogy)

by James Maxwell

  Vance handed Lars the axe and again picked up his sword. He scraped the blade along his skin. A single swipe shaved the hair from a patch on his arm.

  Lars scowled and inspected his axe. “I haven’t sharpened it in a while, that’s all.”

  “The problem is you keep taking off more of the edge. If you hone with a smooth stone, you’ll need to sharpen it less often. Here.” Vance handed Lars the stone.

  Lars hefted the stone, as if he wanted to throw it at Vance’s head, but then he stalked away. Vance smiled as Lars sat down with his axe. Gathering his collection of blades, Vance sheathed them one by one, then took them to his pack. He hummed a tune to himself, pleased that the cave was peaceful.

  A loud whirring came from behind him.

  His head jerked round and he stared at Ruth. She was hunched over a circle of stones with a bow in her hand to start a fire. Her brow furrowed as she worked, yanking the bow back and forth to spin a long stick against a piece of flat wood on the ground.

  Ruth’s short wavy hair was a dark shade of red, the color of the wasteland. She was pretty, with brown eyes and full lips, and wore a snug leather vest and trousers.

  Vance watched while she grimaced and moved her arm furiously. Clearly she needed his help.

  “Here, let me do it,” he said as he approached.

  He knelt beside her and took the bow from her hands. She gave him a dark look, but he ignored her and began to saw with the bow. He frowned. He might not be as strong as Taimin, but the muscles in his arm were burning after just a few pushes and pulls. The stick caught in the bowstring and kept jumping off the flat timber beneath it, forcing him to stop and start again. He clenched his jaw tightly. His frown deepened.

  Ruth gave a short laugh. “You’ve never used a bow to start a fire, have you?”

  She snatched the bow back as Vance tried to think of a retort. Readying herself, she lifted her arm and started again. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and then smoke curled from the base of the pointed stick. Ruth set down the bow and put some dried grass to the smoldering wood. A tongue of flame caught hold and expanded as she fed the growing fire with twigs.

  “You know weapons,” she said. “But when it comes to survival out here, you’ve got a long way to go.”

  Vance felt a spike of irritation. “I do know weapons,” he said. “What’s yours?”

  “I’m a healer. You know that.”

  Vance grinned. “So you can’t fight, or you won’t?” Slowly he shook his head side to side. He let the silence grow and added a stick to the fire. His good mood began to return.

  All of a sudden, Ruth left the fire and walked over to Lars. Vance turned and watched closely.

  “Can you spare some of that leather?” Ruth asked the skinner. Several lengths rested at Lars’s feet as he honed the edge of his axe.

  “What for?”

  “Can you or can’t you?”

  Lars scratched at his thick black beard. “Take what you need,” he said with a shrug.

  Ruth sifted through the leather strips, then took some with her to the far side of the cavern. Without asking, she bent and grabbed one of Vance’s knives. Vance scowled, but she didn’t even look his way as she sat down near her own blanket. Wondering what she was up to, he watched as she began to work at the leather.

  He raised his voice. “What are you making? A sling?” he asked.

  “Something like that.”

  Spying movement at the cave’s entrance, Vance saw Taimin and Selena enter together. Taimin looked tired, and when Vance saw the size of the sand lizard on his shoulder, he could understand why. Selena looked much the same as always: pretty, but in a delicate way, slight and slender with long hair as black as night, and high cheekbones. Like Taimin, she wore basic traveling clothes, dusty but well made.

  Vance tilted his head. Taimin’s limp looked worse than usual, but he knew better than to say anything as Taimin walked toward the fire and set down the dead sand lizard.

  Vance glanced up at his friend. “Any trouble out there?”

  “None,” Taimin said.

  Selena opened her mouth, and a shadow crossed her odd-colored eyes—one green, the other brown—but she didn’t say anything.

  Inspecting the sand lizard, with its gray hide and three horns, Vance wondered if Ruth was right. He knew about weapons, and had once earned a living trading them, but that didn’t mean he was used to the constant danger out in the wasteland. He couldn’t imagine going out alone and facing down such a menacing creature.

  He hoped that no one else knew about the fear he was trying to hide.

  The cave’s entrance was dark. Nightfall had descended on the plain. The meal was done, and the coals had settled down to red embers.

  As he sat with the fire in front of him, Taimin rubbed his foot. The throbbing had settled to a constant ache. He had to hope he would feel better by the morning.

  He was trying to put on a brave face, but in truth he was afraid about letting his companions down. Until he met Griff, he had never strayed far from the homestead where he grew up. Now he was making a long, perilous journey.

  He reminded himself of what he knew about their destination. In Zorn, they had discovered a map of the wasteland with a symbol—a marker—twin to the one at the city itself, but also connected by a few bridging lines to the firewall. While the marker was in a barren desert with few features, their hope was to find a path through the firewall to the lush paradise that Taimin and Selena had seen from the sky.

  The well in Zorn was dry. Without water, death would come to the city. If Taimin and his companions were successful, they could lead everyone to a verdant land, filled with rivers, lakes, and oceans.

  While Selena, Vance, and Ruth slept nearby, Lars also faced the fire. Thinking about Zorn made Taimin again wonder at the city’s mysterious builders.

  “Where did they get the stone?” Taimin asked. His brow was furrowed as he stared into the coals. “The city was built on a plain.”

  Lars grunted. “Plenty of stone around.”

  “White stone? That much of it?”

  “Lad, we might never find out who built Zorn. It was hundreds of years ago, long before our time. I’m more interested in what’s outside the firewall. Water to drink. Animals to hunt. Trees to build houses with. Good soil and space for crops to grow.” He poked at the embers with a stick and tossed up fiery sparks. “Freedom to roam.”

  Taimin remained pensive. “They were tall.”

  “Eh? Who?”

  “The city’s builders. Bigger than humans or trulls. Who were they? Where are they now?”

  Lars shrugged. “You know I don’t have the answers.”

  “If the firewall has nothing to do with the motions of the suns, then what is it?”

  “The important thing is that we find a way through to the other side,” Lars said firmly. “We’ll have to search when we get there. What would a gap through the firewall even look like?”

  Taimin reached out to pick up the piece of fibrous paper that lay on the ground nearby. As he inspected the map they had copied before leaving Zorn, he focused on the marker at the firewall’s edge and tried to picture a path.

  When he was young, he had come close to the firewall, where the sky turned red and the heat became unbearable. The firewall as he had seen it was clearly impassable; after his parents’ bodies were taken into it, he had watched them burn to ash in just a few hours. Perhaps there would be a break in the red color, a place where a swathe of blue sky rose above normal dirt, rather than blackened ground.

  To escape the wasteland, he would have to learn the truth about a world full of secrets. If he could find a route to the lands outside the firewall then not only humans, but all of the five races would no longer struggle just to survive.

  Lowering the map, Taimin glanced at Lars. “The marker might signify something else,” he said.

  “There’s a way through,” Lars said. “I’m sure of it.” He climbed to his feet and stretched. “Anyway, I
’m off to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, and the day after that. Tonight we have full bellies, plenty of water, and a fire. But you and I both know that from tomorrow, things aren’t going to be so easy.”

  Selena lay on her side with her eyes open, facing the wall of the cave. She listened to Taimin and Lars talking. She thought about the firehound’s attack.

  What if he hadn’t turned in time? He might die one day, all because she couldn’t farcast. She would never be able to prevent him taking risks, and nor did she want to. She just wanted to do what she could to keep him safe, and to help every member of the group on their perilous journey.

  She remembered his injured foot. How did he live with the pain?

  After the two men’s voices became quiet, she heard a shuffle behind her, along with Taimin’s breathing. He slid onto the blanket at her back, moving carefully so he didn’t disturb her.

  She turned her head and stared into his eyes for a moment, but she knew they weren’t alone in the cave.

  “Good night,” she whispered, so that only he would hear her.

  For the first time, he moved to bring himself close, on his side like she was, and she felt his body all along her. Without thinking about what she was doing, she reached out and grabbed his hand to pull it over herself.

  She felt a sudden urge, a desire to kiss the man holding her, but she was conscious of Lars’s snores from the far side of the cave. Instead, she simply enjoyed Taimin’s warmth.

  As she settled into sleep, her thoughts drifted. Her mind turned to the things Taimin and Lars had said.

  She tried to imagine the builders of the white city, Zorn. Taimin had said they were tall . . .

  3

  Ingren walked on blackened ground, while ahead of her, her eight-foot-tall figure cast a long, wavering shadow. Her skin felt hot, but she knew it was just a trick of her imagination; her protective body suit would keep her safe. The sky was red in all directions. The vista was barren; desolate. The very idea of life surviving in this place was unthinkable. She felt her anxiety grow and tried to focus on Ungar, her bondmate, who led her ever onward.

  Ungar’s shadow was even longer. His shoulders were broad and his limbs were lean. As he walked with long strides, his entire body communicated pent-up force. Strong and brave, even by the standards of his fellow warriors, he was a bondmate to be proud of. If he had one flaw it was that he sometimes confused courage with rashness.

  Ungar’s suit-clad silhouette was sleek and silver, contrasting with the fiery sky, but focusing on him through the strange smoky haze was difficult. He was a shimmering figure holding a ceremonial spear, a weapon too long and awkward to fit inside his suit. Ingren blinked. She knew fatigue was wearing at her senses, even as the extreme conditions and endless walk made her lose all track of time. But she knew she had to keep up, and stay close to her bondmate. Losing him wasn’t an option.

  As her boots crunched into the black dirt, she saw Ungar enter a field of boulders; at least the change in terrain proved they were actually moving. She thought about the dangers ahead. It was in her nature to worry, and even making it through this difficult stage would only mark the beginning of the quest. Nonetheless, she couldn’t wait until the crossing was over. The environment surrounding her was hostile to all life. If it weren’t for her suit, she would be dead in moments, scorched to the color of the ground around her.

  Ungar glanced over his shoulder and slowed his pace so she could catch up. His face was covered by the silver material of his suit, except for his eyes which were always bright and crimson, like burning coals. Ingren heard his low, growling voice.

  “I told you my suit is too small.” Ungar scratched under his arms. “It is rubbing me raw.”

  Ingren shook her head. Despite the situation she almost smiled. After twelve years of bonding, she was used to Ungar’s complaints. Her own suit also felt tight and constrictive, but she was simply glad it worked. It covered her from head to toe, the flexible material extending to boot coverings and gloves. A transparent section in front of her eyes enabled her to see, while her breath was evacuated through a mesh near her mouth, which also filtered the savage heat from the air outside.

  Ungar made an elaborate show of stretching while he resumed his walk. He still took the same determined strides, but he appeared to have finally realized she was having difficulty keeping up.

  “It was your idea to do this,” Ingren said.

  “At the moment, we are not doing anything. We are walking,” Ungar said impatiently. “My spear thirsts for blood.”

  “We will make it through the barrier soon enough. Then your quest can begin.”

  He snorted. “You call it my quest.” His red eyes gleamed as he turned his head to face her. “Yet I have no doubt that you will be pleased to be the bondmate of a marshal. You know as well as I do that there has never been a marshal who has not completed a quest.”

  “I know, I know,” Ingren said. “Your superiors do like their traditions. The hunts still mean something to them. I have to say, though, I will be happy when we are back home.”

  Ungar’s voice became serious. “I have heard your doubts, but I need to know I can rely on you.”

  “Of course, bondmate.”

  “Five trophies, Ingren. Five trophies to take back to Agravida. Each hunted down and defeated in physical combat, as bonded warriors did long ago.” Ungar lifted his spear into the air. “You have no idea how eager they are to hear of my exploits when the quest is done.”

  The more excited Ungar became, the more Ingren worried. “This rule about the strongest opponents—”

  He bristled. “It is no rule. It is about custom, and honor. They will see the severed heads. They will hear my tales. I cannot return with the head of an infant. My trophies must be worthy.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you understand?”

  Ingren kept her expression blank. “Yes, bondmate.”

  Ungar tossed his head and turned away from her, no doubt thinking of the glory that awaited him. As they continued their journey, Ingren noticed a gradual change in the sky, a lightening from deep red to a softer shade of pink. A patch of blue appeared above the horizon.

  “At last,” Ungar grunted. “We are nearly through.”

  The tension in Ingren’s body eased. She examined the landscape and noticed more color in the terrain. Looking again at the sky, she saw more blue appear through the crimson haze.

  Ingren had conducted research in preparation for this quest. She and Ungar carried with them a map of the wasteland. They had planned Ungar’s hunt, and careful surveillance told them where they would find prey for him to track down. They had chosen to initiate their journey at this time in order to intercept a particular group of humans traveling close to the barrier.

  Ungar was right. They had completed their crossing, which meant the hunt would now begin in earnest.

  Ingren also knew that the barrier of superheated air had a different name among the inhabitants of the wasteland.

  They called it the firewall.

  Ingren helped Ungar out of his suit before she wriggled out of her own. She took an uncertain breath of unfiltered air, and then a deeper breath when she discovered that it was hot, but perfectly acceptable. It felt liberating to be free of the suit’s embrace, and Ungar was pacing back and forth, obviously pleased. Ingren wrapped up the two suits and put them into her pack. She then took her first proper look at the wasteland.

  It was a dry land, brown rather than green, with the occasional skeletal tree a rare sight. The idea of open water was unthinkable. Dirt and rock were the defining features of the terrain. The same animals lived here as those Ingren had grown up with, but the range of species was far narrower than outside. She saw raptors wheeling in the sky and watched as a rock lizard chased a stinger beetle. A few tall fronds of pink razorgrass fluttered in the breeze. Spiky cactuses dotted the area, limbs awkwardly bent in a variety of poses.

  “We are here,” Ungar said with pride in his voice, as he moved his gaze to
take it all in. He turned to Ingren. “What an adventure we will have.”

  Out of his suit, he now looked like a creature of the wasteland himself. He wore a traditional costume, brown in color, tied with leather cord at the waist and torso. Tiny green beads of aurelium decorated his costume’s collar; no bonded would be without protection against mystics. An angular black symbol on Ungar’s breast displayed his rank of sub-marshal. His high leather boots were antiquated, as old-fashioned as the curved knife at his waist. He still brandished his long ceremonial spear.

  Ungar’s head moved from side to side as his gaze alighted on one thing and then another. The curling horns on either side of his crown were as red as his eyes. A flat face and sweeping brow ridges gave him a look of haughtiness, while his skin was the same color as the rocks littering the terrain. His mouth was parted, displaying several rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. He was the image of a perfect warrior, and he was so eager he was almost smiling.

  Ingren’s clothing was plain; she was no hunter and, in truth, this wasn’t her quest. Her long gray robe, belted at the waist, complemented the wasteland in that it was drab rather than colorful. Her pale yellow horns were short and pointed. She was completely unarmed; as an advisor, she could never contemplate violence, even to save her own life. She carried all of their provisions in a pack on her back that was large enough to also store the grim trophies her bondmate planned to acquire.

  “Ready?” Ungar grunted as he glanced at her. “Good. Come on.”

  Ungar set off again with his long, ground-eating strides. Ingren found it easier to walk without the encumbrance of her suit, and traveled at his side as they headed farther into the barren wasteland that was so different from the home they had left behind.

  It wasn’t just the savage heat and lack of greenery that made Ingren feel she had come to another world altogether. No matter what she saw, she knew she wouldn’t find any signs of advanced technology. She wouldn’t hear the buzz of machines or see the soaring heights and smooth, regular angles of the buildings that made up the city she lived in. Traveling to the wasteland meant escaping such things in order to return to a more primitive state of existence. Even the rations they had brought with them were uninteresting. Ingren already knew she would miss the food of home.